"Bed. Now."

Marcus Flint let out a long, groan as he placed his hands on his Dad's knees, jumping up and down in protest. "But I wanna see Stella and Jacob! PLEEEEASE, DAAAAAD?" Caden leaned forward on the couch, and raised his brows. "What did I say?" "But why not?!" "Because I said so." "But they're coming over!" "Marcus, they are coming over to sleep, which is what you're supposed to be doing right now." "But-" "If you're not in that bed by the time I count to 3, you're going to be in your room all day tomorrow." The boy jumped up and down, letting out whine after whine. "1." Marcus frowned greatly and stomped away, going upstairs like he was supposed to do about 10 minutes ago after he had gotten up to get a glass of water. There was silence once he got to the top of the stairs.


"...2!"

Footsteps moved upstairs, and there was the sound of a door slamming, which just made Caden's headache even worse than it already was. Leaning back on the couch, he raised his hands to press his palms against his closed eyes, trying to get the pain to go away. He thought that these last 2 weeks were never going to end, between the new M.A.G.I.C. law and Quidditch. Then again, one had to do with the other, didn't it? The only reason he was working 3 times at hard at the game was because of that God damn law. So, when he realized that his jersey was missing, he was not in the best of moods. He thought his son had taken it again at first, since there had been a time when he thought it made a fantastic blanket, but it wasn't there. That only left one other place. Estella's. When she confirmed that it was there, he felt just a bit of relief, knowing it wasn't in a ditch somewhere.

She really just needed to hurry up, because he was certain if she took any longer his headache would just be worse and she probably wouldn't want to be around him at all. Not something he needed at the moment.

Fuming in the lift to get out of this damned place, Fiona's mind kept replaying the infuriating meeting she'd just had with the official behind the M.A.G.I.C. information desk. She wasn't allowed to ask questions until their meeting, here's a brochure with the documents you need to bring to the meeting, see you at the meeting---don't bring your muggle husband.

Fiona's arms were tightly crossed as she pushed into the corner of the lift, ignoring the ministry workers coming on and off without a second look toward her. It was so strange--yesterday she was having a conversation with Isobel about how she didn't feel any different, being a pureblood, from a muggleborn, even a muggle. It just never came into her mind that there was something better about it, that it was a privilege and honor to not have any muggles in your family, but today. Today she found herself feeling insulted that they were questioning her blood status, and that made her sick.

She needed to fix this. Brianna's internship was at stake, and if she couldn't find the right documents, her sister might lose everything she worked so hard for and--Fiona let out a shuddering breath, angry at everything going on right now, especially the tears in her eyes. Brilliant.

It was so much more boring being the wife of an Azkaban detainee than Juliana ever would have thought. When she wasn't at work, she spent most of her time doing nothing but lounging around the empty house or her parents' place, just--wiling away the time. In a sick sense, she almost missed Orpheus, if only because he gave her a preoccupation, someone to spend her time thinking of new ways to bother. Then again, Orpheus was practically insane, and if he had been around, she probably would have been laying dead in a ditch somewhere by now, so it wasn't that much of a regret. She rather liked being alive, thank you very much, even if her current situation didn't rouse up any warm feelings of c'est la vie! to be mentioned.

Lounging back on her old bed, she stared at the ceiling and pursed her lips at the thought. This certainly hadn't been in her plans at all, and although the timing was utterly convenient, Juliana did by no means wish to be a mother. Not by her disgrace of a husband, not by any random man, and certainly not by her cousin. It was fortunate that she had a very tight lip when she set her mind to it, because if anyone were to find out the rather unsavory details of her relationship with Christopher Loftus apart from either of the two, she was certain that she would be disowned straightaway. Not that the whole of pureblooded society weren't a bunch of inbreeding sons of bitches, but she wasn't married to her inbreeding son of a bitch. That was a terrible no-no, as far as their twisted protocol went.

Then again, as her own personal protocol went, having a child with her husband was even worse. But that was what she would have everyone believe--apart from her siblings, who would of course never know the real truth either way--in an effort to keep her good name.

A nail file in her hand, she worked at her long nails blindly, idly, and yawned a little. This was all so terribly boring. She had been hoping that there would be some excitement at home--at least Grayson beheading a house elf or her mother sharing ridiculous gossip with some friends that she could listen in on--but alas, her journey elicited nothing. She would have almost done better to go home and finish her task of destroying each and every Travers family heirloom that she could find.